Breathing Space
by Andrew Fisher15
Summary: Set immediately after the Last Olympian (Has it been four years already?)-Annabeth starts to lose hope of finding Percy, and is given faith by a stranger. A short hope/comfort story with subtle Christian overtones. Best read while listening to "Breathing Space" by X-Ray Dog.


_Where hope would otherwise become hopelessness, it becomes faith_

* * *

Some people cried loudly, some people got choked up, some people screamed when they were upset.

Annabeth just closed her eyes and cried, letting her tears fall into her drink. She had searched and searched and searched. Four days, solid, with rotating teams of demigods and mortal allies. She had totaled three hours of sleep over those four days, and it was showing on her.

Not a sign of Percy _anywhere,_ not a clue what had taken him from camp or why. Two weeks after their victory, after burying so many of their friends who fell defending Olympus—and he had just been _gone_ one morning.

She couldn't really remember how she had gotten there, to some little café/coffee shop, but there had been a reaosn... close to a weapons shop, or it had been by a possible location to search, she couldn't remember. Most of the people ignored her at her corner booth, or had given her pitying looks. She had tried sorting through notes, searching through her laptop for any leads, any clues. That had lasted about ten minutes, and now a screensaver floated around as she cried silently, her eyes shut tightly.

She heard light footsteps, and someone sat down in the seat across from her. She didn't open her eyes, didn't want to acknowledge the presence. Tears kept dripping from her eyes as misery choked her, despair and grief. It had felt like hours dragged by, but she could hear the faint breaths of the person across from her.

"If you're waiting for the grand finale, this is all I do." Annabeth snapped, still refusing to look at the person.

"I doubt that." The voice said. It was a guy, maybe in his twenties. An accent that sounded Ohio, or Indiana. "You look like someone who's been doing a lot lately." His voice was warm, but not overly.

"Who're you?" She asked flatly.

"One who has waited long for you to speak." He said simply. She could hear him take a sip of his drink, the slight _tap_ when he set the cup down.

"What, you like crying girls?" Annabeth said coldly, still refusing to open her eyes. It was ridiculous, but maybe that was the extreme lack of sleep…

"Ever read the _Odyssey?_" He asked suddenly.

"Only about a dozen times." She sad flatly. He chuckled, but not unkindly.

"Then you know what crying is, at the deepest level." He said. "Even to the ancient pagans."

"Grief." Annabeth said shortly. "Sadness."

"It's a form of prayer." The man said gently. "Tears are connected to hope, to consoling your grief, and to love. Love is connected to a belief that there is more than just this life—when a person cries over loss, they show their belief in God, even if only at a low level. A belief in eternity. We love only what is immortal—why would anyone love humans if they merely lived, died, and ceased to exist? _I_ wouldn't."

"Maybe I don't believe in anything." Annabeth said. "Maybe I'm an atheist."

"Then you deceive yourself." The man said kindly. "Your loss, and your belief, is written across your face."

"Hardly matters if I believe in the gods or not." Annabeth muttered. "They're not very helpful of late. Never were… I mean, Odysseus had to build his own raft, even."

"Then maybe you should ask the God that provides miracles." The man said, a smile in his voice. "Your prayers brought me here. Maybe another can bring your loved one back to you."

"What makes you—" Annabeth stopped speaking as soon as she opened her eyes.

There was no one next to her. Her gaze darted around the little café. She could see an employee cleaning counters, a couple in the other corner booth, a man writing on his laptop. She would have heard the door open and shut, had the stranger left. She glanced at the little table in front of her. Across from her laptop sat a half-full mocha and an untouched chocolate brownie. She glanced at her own melting smoothie, the once-bitten sandwich, if only to assure herself she hadn't ordered the things sitting a foot away.

"Hey." She said to the man at the laptop. He turned, and she pointed to the odd food. "This yours?"

"Naw." The man said, a New Yorker accent evident in the single word. He looked away, not wanting to console a crying girl. Not the voice. Annabeth felt a final tear drip off her nose, and wiped her eyes. The grief left her, and she could breath normally again. Her mind started sorting through possibilities, what could still happen. There was still hope.

_Please. _She prayed silently, not knowing who it was too. _Please. Bring Percy back to me._

* * *

_ Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares._


End file.
